


Storytime

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [11]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BFFs, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3888505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos tells Aramis the story of how he got his scar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



"I'm bored," Aramis says, his head pillowed on Porthos' stomach. "Tell me a story."

Porthos huffs and ruffles Aramis' hair. They're snuggling on the big leather couch in the living room - alone in the apartment for the moment. Athos has gone out to buy paint supplies. Something he apparently needs to do alone. He was quite adamant about it. Aramis half and half expects him to come home with some sort of present, but he'll have to wait and see. For now he has other things that occupy his mind.

"I'm serious," he says and turns his head so he can look at Porthos' face. "Please tell me a story."

"It's my free day," Porthos murmurs, and the glint in his eye tells Aramis that he's about to tell a far from creative lie he expects to be found out about. "I have to do enough storytellin' when I'm with the kids."

"Strange," Aramis says, smirking up at him. "Because I could swear that I heard you tell Athos how Charon stole all the fairy tale hours from you and you were about to do something drastic to get them back."

Porthos grins at him. "You were supposed to be asleep and recuperatin' from your fever when I told him that."

Aramis grins back. "How could I go to sleep when I heard the dulcet harmonics of your voice?"

He gets a kiss for that, and Aramis sighs and closes his eyes. He's come a long way from the shrinking violet that presented itself to Porthos on their first date. He can _flirt_ with Porthos now, can tease and make fun of him … sometimes he even feels up to petty pouting. He tries that now, bottom lip stuck out, eyes wide and wet, and Porthos laughs, nearly catapults Aramis' head off his stomach with his amusement. "You realize that I work with little kids all day, yeah?"

"I realize lots of things," Aramis says in a lofty style that makes him sound a little bit like Athos. Porthos tells him as much.

Aramis preens. "Thank you." He rolls on his stomach and folds his hands over Porthos' belly, rests his cheek on them. He looks up at Porthos and bites his lip, and Porthos' gaze turns serious.

"What is it, darlin'?"

Aramis very determinedly stares at his chin. "You never told me how you got that scar."

He probably could've asked Athos. Aramis knows that. But he didn't want to go behind Porthos' back, didn't want to ask Porthos' best friend for information. Either Porthos wants him to know and tells him, or Aramis won't know at all. That's just how it is.

Porthos makes a low noise, and Aramis can't be certain, but it might be one of disgust. "Eh, that's not a nice story, that one."

He sounds a little sad, and Aramis' eyes widen. He moves around until he's lying beside Porthos on the sofa and can pull him into his arms, gives him a good squeeze. "I'm sorry for asking."

Porthos hugs him back for a long moment, and then he pulls back a little, so he can look into Aramis' eyes. "You've wan'ed to ask me that for a while now, yeah?"

Instead of staring at his chin again, Aramis holds his gaze. "Yes," he says, guilty and regretful. "I won't bring it up again though, I promise."

Porthos smiles at him. "It's not your fault it's a sad story, kitten. You didn't hurt me by askin'." He strokes his hand through Aramis' hair, makes Aramis sigh in unexpected pleasure. "I was fifteen when I got it," he says, and his voice sounds a little detached. "It was before I got big - before I got the muscles."

Aramis has seen pictures of that time, pictures of a tiny, scrawny Porthos, and he loved to see them, loved to get a glimpse at the past. Porthos looked so happy in them - but he certainly doesn't sound happy now.

"So, you see, I found it a little difficult to, eh, defend myself against Victor Gilbert when he jumped me after school."

There is a long pause, and then Aramis swallows, looks into Porthos' eyes again. "Why did he do it?"

Porthos is still smiling, but it's a sad smile, helpless and too sharp. "He had this weird idea that I should go back to my people. I'd just got the scholarship for Athos' posh school you know … seems Victor didn't like to see a bit of colour between all the white people."

Aramis makes a disgusted noise and Porthos kisses him on the cheek. "He threw me down and kicked me, pulled a knife and, well - you can imagine." Aramis kisses his scar then, tentative and careful, and Porthos strokes his hand over his back. "Story's not finished yet."

There's the suggestion of a grin in his voice suddenly, the suggestion of happiness, and Aramis' body goes warm in response although he has no idea what's to come. "Go on then," he insists when Porthos pauses rather too long for his liking. "Tell me!"

Porthos chuckles and gives him a little kiss. "Athos came to my rescue. He was even smaller than I was, all elbows and knees - barrelled into Victor from the side and threw him over, knocked that bloody knife out of his hand." He pauses again to trail his fingertip over Aramis' spine, and this time Aramis keeps quiet, doesn't tell him to go on. Porthos looks lost in thought, lost in memories, not all of them good. "He beat him bloody," Porthos says eventually. "They had to drag him off Victor; and I'd seen him lose his temper before - but we were kids then ... five or six years old, and he didn't do much damage to the other kid." He looks up at the ceiling. "I had to share the ambulance with Victor. Athos actually apologized for that later."

Porthos smiles, soft and fond, and Aramis' heart beats a little harder.

"He never apologized to Victor though, and he made sure that Victor's father didn't get to swipe the whole affair under the carpet … well, Athos' mom made sure of that really." Porthos turns his head and looks into Aramis' eyes, gives him a little kiss. "She offered to pay for a plastic surgeon to get rid of the scar when I turned eighteen, but I didn't want that. I hated it for a long, long time, right after it happened … but I didn't hate it anymore when she offered."

Aramis blinks at him, honestly curious. "Why not?"

Porthos grins at him. "Cause Athos made me love it."


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis holds his breath, waits for Porthos to continue his story - and then there's a key in the door. Athos is back. Now, Aramis loves Athos, and he's always happy to see him, no matter the circumstances, but his timing _could_ be better.

They wait for him to get rid of his shoes and round the corner to the living room, and greet him with identical smiles of honest affection once he does. He looks a little flushed, hair tousled by the wind, and when he sets the plastic bag he brought with him to the floor, it makes an ominously heavy sound.

Porthos lifts one brow. "What you got in there?"

"A lot," Athos replies mysteriously. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Aramis says eagerly, his eyes on the bag. "Did you get everything you need?"

"I hope so," Athos murmurs and starts coffee preparations. "I'm not quite sure where I'm going with the current project."

"I was just tellin' Aramis the story of your first project," Porthos informs him in a soft voice, and Athos stops spooning coffee powder into the little metal filter of his coffee maker and turns around to look at them.

"You were?" He sounds tentative and content all at once, and Aramis has never seen him look quite like this.

It is a good look, soft and vulnerable, and Porthos nods. "I was."

"Don't stop on my account," Athos says, his eyes fixed on Porthos', and they do not quite smile at each other - or if they do, it's all in the eyes. Aramis sighs. They are so very lovely.

"Get on with your coffee-makin' then," Porthos says eventually. "Let me tell my story in peace."

Athos smirks and turns back towards the stove, and Porthos pulls Aramis deeper into his arms. "Where was I?"

"You said that Athos made you love your scar," Aramis offers eagerly, his eyes fixed on Porthos' face. "What did he do?"

"Well, for one he kept showin' up at the hospital," Porthos says conversationally. "Although I was a grumpy bugger at first and told him I didn't wanna see him … didn't wanna see anyone."

Aramis frowns and rubs his hand over Porthos' chest, and gets a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"I was in pain and had a huge bandage over my eye, and I wan'ed to wallow in peace," Porthos continues. "Course he didn't let me - and his Mom didn't let me either … and neither did Flea or Charon, or the Captain. They were a horribly annoyin' bunch."

Aramis is very pleased to hear this, and says as much - gets another kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Eventually I got over myself and looked forward to visitors, despite the bandage and all." Porthos is looking up at the ceiling and a frown settles into the corners of his mouth. "Then they took the bandage off." Silence follows, only made bearable by Athos who finishes his coffee preparations and puts the little coffee maker on the stove. "It looked ugly at first," Porthos says and promptly lifts his hand to fend off a possible interruption when Athos turns around. "It did - you know it did."

"It was a little red," Athos says carefully. "Because it was still healing."

"Hear that?" Porthos says to Aramis. "That’s the way it went, day in and day out. He tried to tell me I looked badass, that I looked like a warrior - when the fact of the matter was that I didn't even get in a hit of my own when Victor jumped me."

Aramis looks over at Athos in search of help, in search of a clue for what to say, and Athos softly clears his throat. "I seem to recall that you tell your children that losing a fight does not equal losing at life."

"As a matter of fact I do," Porthos rumbles on, still looking at the ceiling. "But I'm not fifteen anymore, you gotta give me that. So, first thing I did when I got out of the hospital was startin' to work out." He clears his throat, rubs his hand over Aramis' back. "I wan'ed to be prepared when it happened again - and I expected it to happen again, even if Victor had been expelled from school."

It makes Aramis so sad, hearing those words, and he can't keep in a distressed sound, makes Porthos look at him and frown. "Want me to stop?"

"No," Aramis replies, takes Porthos' face between both of his hands and gives him a kiss. "No, I want you to go on. It's bound to get happier, and I want to get to the happy bit."

Porthos grins at him. "Good choice. Cause you see - I overdid it a bit, with the workin' out. It wasn't happenin' fast enough for me, and I got frustrated and angry again … because, as my wise best friend kept tellin' me, it was really the scar I wasn't happy with, and that never went away, no matter how far I ran or how much weight I lifted."

The coffee maker starts to rumble, and Athos takes it off the stove, fixes them all a cup and brings those over to the table. He is quiet, and his expression noticeably smooth - Aramis has no idea what he's thinking. But then again he very seldom does.

Porthos lifts his head when Athos sits down, and Athos obediently moves closer to him, puts a pillow into his lap. Aramis has never seen them do this before, but he's not surprised when Porthos puts his head down onto the pillow - when Athos buries his hand in Porthos' curls.

"Do you want me to go on?" Athos asks in a smooth voice, and Porthos closes his eyes and nods.

"Yeah," he rumbles. "You go on tellin' that story."


	3. Chapter 3

If this were anyone but Athos, Aramis would get impatient. Athos _offered_ to tell the story after all, _offered_ to tell Aramis what happened between him and Porthos so many years ago - how he made Porthos accept his scar, made him love it even. But then again this is Athos, and Aramis is not surprised that he takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

Athos is frowning in concentration, even pouting a little. It reminds Aramis so much of the way Porthos looks when he's thinking hard about something that it makes him go a little weak. Aramis' head is still on Porthos' belly whose head is in Athos' lap, and this is by far the nicest and most comfortable thing they ever did … even nicer than when they all shared a bed the other night. Because Aramis was sick then, and none of them is sick now. Merely a bit sad.

But Porthos promised that the story would get happier, and Aramis is waiting for it to happen, is looking up at Athos' face - and then down at where his hand is gently stroking through Porthos' curls. It doesn't look like he's never done that before. It does in fact look like something he does quite frequently, something he only stopped doing once Aramis came along, and Aramis is weirdly happy that he's picked it up again. It looks nice. Athos has very nice hands. Porthos has closed his eyes, and he's not quite smiling, but he's not frowning either, and right this moment that's enough for Aramis.

"Well," Athos says eventually, "where would you like me to start?"

"You heard where I finished, didn't you?" Porthos grunts. "What do you think?"

"Alright," Athos drawls. "Those work-out sessions of yours it is then."

He keeps stroking Porthos' hair - is very gentle even when his voice sounds smooth and somewhat detached. "Because Aramis clearly needs to know how you ran yourself into the ground back then. With all that running and weight-lifting and kick-boxing …" He looks straight into Aramis' eyes. "He fainted on me one time, I swear to God."

Porthos makes a disgusted sound, and Athos' left lid flickers, makes it very nearly look like a wink. "I didn't _faint_."

"Yes, you did," Athos insists, still in that smooth, cool voice. "I was there, I know. Your opinion on the matter does not count, you were _unconscious_."

Aramis bites his lip to stifle a giggle, and when he checks to see Porthos is looking at him, grinning fondly. "You like that, eh? You actually like him besmirchin' my reputation." Aramis finds it safest not to say anything, and Porthos shakes his head at him, pouting beautifully. "You're supposed to be on my side, you know."

"I always am," Aramis promises him earnestly, and Porthos smiles at him.

"Yeah, I know."

"Now, after the fainting incident I felt like I had to come up with something to keep him still for at least a few hours a day," Athos continues as if the interruption had never taken place. He looks down at Porthos, the fondest expression in his eyes. "He was determined to turn himself into the Hulk, and I was not used to him being so _stubborn_ \- I had always been the stubborn one in our relationship … he was supposed to keep _me_ out of trouble."

"Nonsense!" Porthos exclaims, and this time Aramis does giggle. Porthos doesn't pay his amusement any heed, stretches his neck and glares up at Athos. "What the heck are you even talkin' about? You were the quietest kid there ever was - you still are!"

"I beat up more people than you did," Athos points out, and Porthos' expression goes utterly soft.

"Yeah," he says. "You did." He reaches up to briefly touch the hand Athos has in his hair. "For me."

Athos ignores him, while Aramis' heart grows about three sizes.

"I asked him to sit for me," Athos tells Aramis. "I had just gotten into art, had been painting for a few months already, but it was all abstract - I had never done any portraits." He looks down at Porthos' face, so much affection in his eyes. "I sketched him. Every day I would make him sit down for me and keep still ... made him read to me so he would not get bored."

"Still don't know why I said yes," Porthos murmurs, his eyes half-closed again. "I knew what he was doin' - at least part of me did."

Aramis looks from one to the other, and he can feel his chest opening up with warmth, can feel it expanding. Just from the way they are treating each other.

"You were exhausted," Athos tells Porthos. "You had no energy left to say no to anything."

"That might've been it," Porthos admits, grinning like a little boy. "And then there was the argument that I should be glad that I had still both of my eyes and I damn well better make use of them while I still could."

Aramis makes a scandalized noise and Porthos gives him a little squeeze. "Flea was the one who said that - she was never one for sugar-coatin' things."

Athos clears his throat, and Porthos grins up at him. "I liked readin' to you back then - liked your sketches too. You picked it up really fast."

"Yes, well, what can I say," Athos drawls. "You have a good face."

Aramis wants to kiss them both. Especially when Porthos calls Athos a charmer and Athos _blushes_. It makes Aramis grin like a fool, makes Porthos clear his throat when he notices. "Athos made a painting from the sketches," he tells Aramis, his voice so full of emotion that it wavers a bit. "Gave it to me for my birthday. It was huge, barely fit through the door, and - and the colours they were -"

He stops, sounding choked up. There are tears in his eyes, and Athos covers them with his hand, ever so gently, puts his palm over Porthos' eyes like a shield. "I wanted to show him how he looked to me," he says softly. "That the scar did not take away from that … That he still looked the same to me."

Porthos puts his own hand over Athos' and keeps it there for a moment before he takes Athos' hand into his. He pulls it down and puts it over his heart, presses it down gently. He doesn't hide his tears, looks straight into Aramis' eyes and smiles. "Told you it was a happy story."

"Where is it now?" Aramis asks, sounding just as choked-up as Porthos does. He looks from one to the other, doesn't want to miss a single moment of this, not a single expression. "What happened to the picture?"

Because the picture is neither in Athos' nor in Porthos' room and Aramis wants to see it so much that it makes him feel a little sick.

"It is on loan," Athos says quietly, looking into Porthos' eyes. "With my mother." He smiles, lets his gaze travel to Aramis, looks at him for a long moment. "I think it is time to get it back."


End file.
